


You will see your beauty every moment that you rise

by rhythmickorbit



Series: Hollow Core [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Beginnings, Child Labor, Contracts, Drag Racer!Moonracer, F/F, Gen, Gladiator!Chromia, Gladiators, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kaon City, Moonracer is baby, Nightmares, Platonic Relationships, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love, Sisters, The Pits of Kaon City, Trauma, drag racing, drug implications, i guess that's what that is???, protective chromia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: After the titan burned, Chromia was tossed to the side, to the lonely life of a gladiator. She harbored her anger for what seemed like vorns, silently bemoaning the slow decay of her morals in the wake of trauma.When forced to share living space with a young drag racer, however, Chromia begins to rebuild. After all, past and present suffering is easier to deal with when someone is willing to treat your wounds, to hold your hand. It gives her something to protect, and something else to lose.
Relationships: Chromia & Moonracer (Transformers), Chromia/Windblade
Series: Hollow Core [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701955
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	You will see your beauty every moment that you rise

**Author's Note:**

> You don't see what you possess, a beauty calm and clear  
> It floods the sky and blurs the darkness like a chandelier  
> All the light that you possess is skewed by lakes and seas  
> The shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe
> 
> \- "You Are the Moon", by The Hush Sound

Chromia’s rage was stale, left over from old, festering wounds. She threw her opponent across the ring, kicking up the dirt that had gathered from cycles without cleaning. The mech bounced, filling Chromia’s audials only with the sound of his armor impacting the ground multiple times. There was yelling, but it made her spark ring hollow.

She strode over to his side and kicked him in a sensitive seam just above his hip joint. The opponent curled up, moaning in pain. The gamblers in the audience jeered at the pathetic sight, at the fighter brought down with only a punch.

Chromia thought about what she could do without the inhibitor digging into her spinal strut. She wondered how many pieces would be left once she was done.

The announcer called the end; this place banned killing, but only to a degree. There would be no consequences if the other gladiator’s life was ended right now.

Chromia wondered when she had become so cruel.

* * *

Energon didn’t have a taste— not anymore. Chromia refueled as fast as she could, if only to make the process go faster. If only to keep the chalky texture from building up on her glossa, activating her gag protocol. It was survival, nothing more.

Perhaps it had something to do with packaged energon in of itself. Chromia never considered herself a romantic, but she liked to think that energon had lost its appeal after her fall. It would only be fitting, after all.

She blinked away the blinding neon lights as her optic settings adjusted. She put her shanix into the flashy machine, and pressed a random button. The marketed flavor didn’t matter.

* * *

Chromia stood over her opponent— some violet-hued flightframe. The ‘bot kneeled on the ground, clutching the oozing, smoking stump where her arm had once been. Her whole body shook, the mode lock on her chest shuddering as she instinctively tried to transform.

The severed arm was on the ground, unmoving. Frayed wires stuck out of it, burned by the electrical impulses emanating from Chromia’s axe. She tightened her hands around her weapon.

The flightframe’s optics burned into Chromia’s. “Finish me,” she spat. There were no suitable doctors in Kaon— though there once were— and no replacement limbs. There was no care for gladiators, for energon-thirsty monsters. To kill her opponent, Chromia thought, would be an act of mercy.

Chromia switched her axe off and stowed it in her subspace. She felt her opponent’s hatred keenly. She felt her own cowardice.

* * *

Whenever she dreamed, which was often, she was always in the ruins of the temple, the floor below her pedes humming with the life of a sleeping titan. She screamed Windblade’s name again and again and again— but was only met with silence. Sometimes she was pinned down by rocks. Sometimes she was near the titan’s brain module itself. Sometimes, most frequently, she watched as Windblade’s energon splattered the floor. Chromia woke up feeling trapped every time.

The wall next to her recharge slab was severely dented with how violently she jerked awake.

* * *

There was a rumor that the gladiator compound would soon be consolidated with drag racer housing. 

Chromia did not know much about the speedsters— only that they went into the track with shining paint and confident smiles and came out with scratches and defeated looks. She supposed that they and the gladiators were alike, in a sense— wholly slaves to the gamblers coming from Iacon and Tetrahex and even Caminus who found it in themselves to slum it with the sorry sparks in Kaon.

Still, she heard rumors, walking through the common room to her tiny quarters. The very idea was met with scoffs— weak, piles of scrap sharing space with fighters? They would get siphoned within the decacycle.

Chromia didn’t worry about it too much— not until she entered her quarters and found a teal speedster sitting on the top bunk.

She hoped that if she ignored the problem, it would go away. Two decacycles passed, and Chromia found that the speedster was still there. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, though— Chromia met her only with icy stares. She didn’t need a stranger knowing about the nightmares, about why she punched the wall at night.

Nevermind the inhibitor on the speedster’s neck. The very sight made Chromia do a double-take when she first saw it. The devices were reserved for those the Senate found too dangerous, too able to rival their own power with unusual abilities.

Chromia wondered what ability the stranger was suppressing.

* * *

Yelling. Chromia burst into the common room. Her roommate stood, shaking, as a gladiator loomed over her. Snarling, demanding that she give up the energon _right now_.

Everyone was hungry. Everyone wanted to refuel. Chromia stalked over, no ill will in her spark. She stood between them, optic-to-optic with the gladiator. She demanded to know what was going on.

“Scraplet has spare energon. She won’t last the next vorn— racers never do. Might as well give it to someone that matters.”

Chromia’s vision went white— and the next thing she knew, the other gladiator was on the ground, energon leaking from her mouth. 

She glanced at the speedster, whose optics were wide and terrified and _awed_ at the same time. She stared at Chromia with something akin to respect.

“Thank you!” the speedster chirped.

Chromia stared at her for a moment, spark softening.

* * *

“My name’s Moonracer,” Chromia heard on the bunk above her. Her optics flickered on, and she was met with the speedster hanging upside down from her recharge slab.

“Chromia.”

“That’s a cool name. Thank you again for helping me, Chromia! I could’ve never done anything against a gladiator of all things! You’re all so _tough_ and I’m just good at running away from things. When I fight back I get in trouble.” Moonracer’s words stumbled over each other, and she flailed her arms in an animated way as she spoke. Chromia smiled a little bit.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. “Make a habit of keeping your possessions in your subspace.”

Moonracer giggled. “Well, I did it back at the racers’ compound. I guess I just assumed that gladiators get more because you’re all big and tough?”

“We assume that the _racers_ get more, usually— you’re all sleek and glamorous.”

“We aren’t, not really— we’re just supposed to load up on polish before we race. If we don’t do that, no shanix. Lotta racers don’t ever pay off their indentures.” Moonracer landed lightly on her pedes. 

Chromia peered at her more closely, propping herself up on her elbows. The speedster’s faceplates were scratched up, a betrayal of the harsh races she had taken part in. Even more apparent, however, was the roundness, the newness to her frame. Moonracer was hardly more than a newlyforged.

“No one pays off their indentures, here, either,” Chromia said, softening her voice.

Moonracer sighed. “I figured. How do you cope?”

_I don’t_ , Chromia wanted to say, but she remained silent, staring at the wall. How empty was her life, she wondered, that she had completely given up?

* * *

“Chromia, what do you wanna do when you get out of Kaon?” Moonracer asked. She swung her legs, her pedes not quite touching the floor from Chromia’s recharge slab.

“I was forged here,” Chromia said, after a moment of polishing the blade of her axe. “I couldn’t imagine living anyplace else— and I have my lot in life. I’m not sure if I should change it.” She shoved aside images of fire, of crying, of pleading. “You?”

“Well, I want to go to Caminus and learn to dance. And I want to race on a _real_ track, not one with rough pavement and broken glass everywhere.” Moonracer’s optics brightened at the prospect. “And I want to travel.”

Chromia bit her lip, and set her axe aside. Its pink hue would never be polished out— not after all of the energon its drawn. “I hope you’re able to,” she said, though the words were hollow.

Moonracer smiled brightly. “Me too! Even if hardly anyone leaves, I think I could. Some mecha do, anyway.”

Chromia remained silent. It wasn’t necessary to voice the implications of that, she didn't think.

* * *

She had been careless today— the pain raking down her midsection was evidence enough of that. Chromia pressed her hand to the wound, hoping that energon wasn’t getting everywhere. She couldn’t look at it, or she would pass out. The inhibitor _hurt_ , even more than it usually did. Chromia’s legs were slow, and everything passed by in a blur. She hardly reached her room in the barracks before collapsing. Her vents were unsteady, her limbs shaking.

“Chromia!” Moonracer cried, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away. “Chromia, what _happened?”_

“Too cocky,” she croaked. “Moon, don’t ever underestimate mecha that are smaller than you. Especially those that have claws. She winced, crawling her way to her recharge slab and leaning against it. “I still won though. Got the shanix to show for it, at least.”

“Um…!” Moonracer hopped onto the top bunk, where Chromia could hear her rustling about. “I have bandages left over from when I wrap up my joints, it should be enough to staunch the energon flow…” She slid down just as quickly, holding a dwindling roll of metal patches.

Chromia weakly pushed her hand away. “Moon, don’t waste them on me— I’ll heal up soon enough.”

“Not if you get a rust infection! If you stop me now, I’ll just wait until you’re in recharge, you know,” Moonracer huffed, beginning to wrap the bandages around Chromia’s midsection. “Stop _squirming,_ you’re worse than Knockout during the final lap—”

Chromia submitted, relaxing her body to make the task easier for Moonracer. It felt nice to have someone care, she thought.

* * *

Moonracer came back from every race with injuries, ranging from her shoulder-wheels being slashed to long scratches arcing down her body to severe denting. Chromia asked about them once, but Moon had brushed her off— since then, Chromia provided the menial care that she was able and not much else.

She learned about drag racing through context clues and through Moonracer’s injuries. It wasn’t the glamorous affair televised from Velocitron. It was harsh, unforgiving, and there were no referees. Crashes were common, and every time Moon and Chromia parted ways in the beginning of the cycle she wondered if she would see her again.

Sometimes Chromia wanted to burn down every racetrack in Kaon, just so Moonracer wouldn’t have to go to one anymore. So she could dance, drive along an unmarred road.

She whimpered now, shaking in place, murmuring about her t-cog. All Chromia could do was sit with her, one hand on her back, and swallow her rage before the inhibitor shorted out her circuits.

* * *

Chromia woke up with a jerk, her intake dry. Her limbs shook. A whimper wrestled its way out of her vocalizer. She still smelled the ozone, the gasoline, the sting of the inhibitor shocking her and weakening her spark so that she couldn’t destroy anything however much she wanted to.

She tried to swallow down a sob and failed. Windblade would still be here, be next to her in recharge, and she would be living in Kaon’s titan where the walls pulsed with life and comfort, not cold and unforgiving and violent. Chromia held her arms close to her chest. She could almost feel Windblade’s sparkbeat next to her, almost hear her teasing voice.

Chromia wanted to burn the world down, turn it into a pile of slag as her optics sparked with tears. All Windblade had done was try to make the world better, use her status to raise others up— and they took her and kicked Chromia into the dust.

“‘Mia?” The glow of Moonracer’s optics glowed in the dark as she crept to Chromia’s side. “‘Mia, you sounded like you had a nightmare— can I do anything?”

Chromia shook her head. She paused. She held out her shaking hand.

Moonracer took it, squeezing comfortingly. She sat on the slab next to Chromia. “Want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about? Everyone in Kaon has nightmares these days.”

“Talking helps, sometimes. My roommate— Knockout— back at my old barracks, he used to talk to me about mine. They didn’t go away, but it helped.” 

Chromia laughed through a held-back sob. “You’re the newspark. _I’m_ supposed to be the one taking care of _you_.”

“I’m _not_ a newspark, though— and we _all_ have to take care of each other.”

Chromia turned her optics upward. Her spark was calming, her armor relaxing. She focused on Moonracer’s grip, on the soft whirr of her systems. She could almost pretend that everything was okay.

* * *

“What do you mean,” Chromia snarled, “that I can’t go in? I have a match today, you rust bucket—”

The bouncer held up his hands, shrugging. “Don’t rip my head off— I’m only relaying the news to you. You can’t go in, ‘cause you aren’t under contract anymore. Someone bought it off, and for a lotta shanix, so I’ve heard.”

Chromia froze in place. This was a dream— or some kind of cruel joke. It had to be.

“Go see for yourself, mech!” the bouncer made an attempt to shove Chromia away— which was decidedly unsuccessful. “They told me she’s at your barracks, or something.

Chromia shot one last glare at him, before tearing off toward the building. She recognized someone out of place immediately— their plating was too shiny, their demeanor too confident for someone who belonged in Kaon.

_And they were talking to Moonracer_.

A growl forming in her vocalizer, Chromia stalked toward them. She stepped between Moonracer and the stranger, glaring at them fiercely. “Who are you?”

The stranger smiled, an expression that was almost on the cusp of a smirk. “Hello, Chromia. My name is Elita-One.”

Chromia glanced down at Moonracer, whose optics were wide. “What was she saying to you?”

“Elita was saying that we’re going to space,” the speedster said reverently. “Chromia, we’re gonna leave Kaon! We’re going to see _stars_ and _real roads—”_

Chromia’s mouth twisted. “Why are you lying to her?” she demanded of Elita-One, who held up her hands.

“I’m many things, but I’m no liar.”

“Yeah? What do you gain from taking two random gladiators to _space_ of all slag?”

Elita-One snorted, her fangs flashing for but a second. “You aren’t _random._ Those inhibitors in your plating? Signs that you’re exactly the types I need for my mission.” She glanced at Moonracer, then back at Chromia. “The first recorded outlier in vorns, and a point-one percenter fallen from grace. I would have recruited your cityspeaker, too, but— well. You know what happened.”

Chromia clenched her jaw tightly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Suit yourself. You can languish here and die in a needless bloodbath.” Elita’s optics suddenly flashed with annoyance, and her tone shifted. “Is that what you want, Chromia? Do you _want_ to die under the Senate’s heel? Under Nova Prime’s regime?”

“Chromia,” Moonracer whispered, squeezing her hand. “I’m going. I don’t want to die here.” She let go, stepping around her and walking toward Elita-One. She glanced back. “I want you to come with me,” she urged.

Chromia watched as they started to walk away. She wondered about what it would be like to recharge alone again, to be without silly expressions and care and embraces. Distrust sparked from her core.

She remembered Windblade, who had always wanted to leave Cybertron on her sleeping titan, who had wanted to see the stars up close. Chromia clenched her fists, and caught up with Elita-One and Moonracer after a few moments.

If worse came to worse, she could be cruel again.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is part of a larger,,, thing I'm working on.
> 
> Chromia and Moonracer are adopted sisters in this au and are *blessed*. I lov them. Also Chromia is STRONG and I would let her snap me in half
> 
> Elita-One has a plan... but what could it be?
> 
> Follow me on twitter if you wanna hear me yell more @rhythmickorbit


End file.
